One Small Verse in the Middle
by smuttykitty
Summary: Pure sugar. NorthstarSas. A reconciliation.


Title: One Small Verse in the Middle

Author: Smuttykitty

Pairing: JP/Walter, with a splash of Speedsicle

Rating: R

Summary: They attempt a reconciliation.

Disclaimers: This is for kicks, nothing more, nothing less. All the characters herein belong to Marvel.

Jean-Paul felt a disloyal tremor in his chest as he listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. He had intended to say no, or maybe not even pick it up in the first place, but instead he was breathing too fast about to answer the only answer there ever was.

Yes.

Walter, Walter, Walter. Fucking Walter.

He had called, cautious like a man on the down low, and told Jean-Paul he was in New York. For work, naturally, and did Jean-Paul want to go for a beer?

In away he was grateful, because what had been gnawing at his thought processes, distracting him from his usual- work, sports, sex, money, power- had been a stupid former accountant from Long Island. Robert Drake aka Bobby aka Iceman, guy who had hijacked his masturbatory fantasies shortly after he'd arrived at the Institute.

Robert was hopelessly het. Jean-Paul knew that, but all the same he had found himself thinking him...cute. Which was not something Jean-Paul frequently thought about anything. He despised cute. He despised puppy love. And he was rapidly despising himself for his infatuation with him.

So Walter was providing an artful distraction, albeit one that perhaps brought more hazards than profit. Like reminding Jean-Paul that it wasn't really that long ago that he had loved Walter so much he didn't know what to do with it. Loved Walter so much that he would do a thing that he had said he wouldn't anymore; fuck "straight" closeted guys.

Oh, but it was so much more complicated than that. It always was, wasn't it? Because he had said yes all those years ago, and it's so much easier to hold out against something you've never had than to throw away something you already have. And he'd had Walter, maybe not entirely on his terms, but he'd had him.

It had been secretive and private, and Jean-Paul didn't mind that. But there had come a point when he realized he didn't see anyone else anymore. He only slept with Walter, and was beginning to hang his heart on him. And that wouldn't do. Not on the terms they had written. It hadn't been that kind of relationship. So Jean-Paul had told him not to come around anymore. Not that way. And he began the slow process of getting over him.

They remained friends, they couldn't do anything else. They were enmeshed in ways that would have been too difficult to explain, let alone extricate themselves from. Years and years of living in the same place, doing the same thing, existing in the same weird microcosm could do that to a person.

So they talked and played video games and shared beers, all with this invisible wedge between them that somehow they had never really spoken about again.

And here he was saying yes on a Wednesday night to a beer in Manhattan with a man that he didn't know what to do about.

At least he wasn't jacking off to Bobby in his Iceman Speedo pants.

He took the train in an act of perversity, left his car sitting in the Park and Ride lot like he was going to fucking work. Stared at the stupid Dunkin Donuts on the far side of the parking lot for a good ten minutes before he went and got his ticket.

Which left him with an hour or so to contemplate the topic further. Which he didn't do and read _GQ_ instead and ditched it on the seat when he got to Grand Central.

He could see Walter waiting in the middle of the space, sandy hair sticking out a near head above the crowd. Jean-Paul sometimes forgot how _big_ he was. As he approached there was an awkward beat, but Walter opened his arms and graciously turned his head for _bises_, and it wasn't really so bad.

He'd bought new glasses since he saw him last, and grown a shade of a goatee and mustache. Not heavy, but artfully slacker. Without even thinking he ran his knuckles against it, and scoffed.

"Don't like it?" Walter asked, eyebrow arched.

"Je ne sais pas." He shrugged a little.

Walter rolled his eyes away in mock drama, but didn't seem fazed.

"So, I have no idea where we should go." Walter admitted.

"There's a place across the way, a little expensive, but the convenience is worth it. We don't want to schlep."

"Schlep? I'm the Jew here."

Now it was Jean-Paul's turn to roll his eyes.

They went to the bar, full of business types who were waiting for trains, or staying in hotels, or comping drinks. Part of that strange American salary man culture.

They sat in a booth, Walter's pick. They could both see the tv, silently showing ESPN.

"Did you want to eat?" Jean-Paul asked as he made damp rings with his mug on a napkin.

Walter gave a little shake of the head, "No. I ate at the conference."

"Conference food." Jean-Paul wrinkled his nose a little.

"It's pretty hard to fuck up sandwiches."

Jean-Paul cracked a little and smirked. "That's what brilliant men eat?"

Now Walter laughed and the tension eased. After that the conversation flowed easily, the way it ought to between people who cared about each other and hadn't had the luxury of presence in some time. In a few hours Jean-Paul sprung for a cab to take Walt to his hotel that was far enough away by both foot and subway to warrant the expense. And in spite of his resolve, Jean-Paul walked the other man to his hotel room.

He stood there without purpose while Walt searched around his wallet for the key card, and finally opened the door.

Walter looked at him from behind his glasses and the sense of deliberation was palpable.

"I want you to come in."

Jean-Paul wanted to shut his eyes, because he wasn't sure he could say no if he was looking at him. Though at the moment he was thinking, why say no? Did he have so much fucking integrity? Was there something so much better than this coming along? And the answer was no. There wasn't. He dated people, he went out, he fucked, but it wasn't the same. He and Walter clicked. That was why they were here, years later, communicating in the only way they knew how.

"Okay."

The room was nothing special. Just a room. It smelled like old smoke and industrial laundry and toilet fresh like every chain hotel in the world did.

The door clicked behind them and now they were stuck with each other.

"There's beer and whiskey in the fridge."

"You're packing the essentials, I see. You came all the way to New York and you planned to sit alone, drinking and watching tv?"

"Maybe. I didn't know for sure. I got it at the duty-free." Walter smiled.

"Oh." Jean-Paul couldn't stop himself from smiling in return, his eyes catching Walter's. "Did you want a drink then?"

"Yeah, whiskey and coke."

He made two, strong, then sat on the edge of the bed. Walter stood over him and inspected him, he could feel it. He sipped his drink, felt the liquor burn his lips and leave a too sweet aftertaste.

"I've missed you." Walter said, voice all gravel.

"I miss you, too." Jean-Paul answered, and felt a sting behind his eyes. And suddenly Walter was kissing him insistently and he kissed him back but ultimately pushed him off. Set his drink on the side board, lay down resignedly.

Walter set his drink down too. Rolled over on to the free space next to Jean-Paul. Put his hand on Jean-Paul's belly, spread fingers.

"Your hands are very large."

"Ouais." Walter replied.

They sat in silence, and Jean-Paul ran the pads of his fingers over the back of Walter's hand, feeling the crispy hair and rough skin.

Walter looked up at his face, Jean-Paul could see from the corner of his eye.

"What do I have to say?"

"I don't know."

"What if I said I love you."

"I already knew that." Now, Jean-Paul turned his head so he could see the other man's face clearly. "I love you, too."

"I know." Walter grinned ruefully.

Walter took a deep breath and looked like he was steeling himself. Swallowed visibly.

"It could be like this everyday."

Jean-Paul pushed the hand off him and propped himself on his side. "How? What is different?"

"I am. I want this."

"Why are you doing this?" Jean-Paul asked, colored with his own anguish. "Telling you to leave was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I can't do it twice. I'm sorry."

"I've been offered a position here in New York. The first thing I though about was you."

"I don't believe that."

Walter laughed, not bitter, but not joyful. Maybe confused. "You're a such an asshole. You drive me nuts."

Jean-Paul made a face at the non-sequitur. "I don't follow you."

"I'm telling you that I love you, that I want to move to New York to try and work things out with you and you can't believe it. You're an asshole. I don't see what there is to follow."

He felt angry heat in his neck. "You know what? Fuck you. I don't need your pity fuck or anything else from you, Walter Langkowski. I don't even know why I came here tonight." He started to sit up but Walter pushed him back on the bed with one hand.

"Stop. Why can't you believe it?" Walter asked, all mellow, highly skilled at placating Beaubiers with a knack acquired over the years.

"I do believe you," he said with exasperation, "It's just... it just can't be the same. I can't go around and be Miss Mutant Faggot Canada and date a guy who won't come out. I just can't. It spits on the face of what I am apparently trying to do. In addition to the fact that I don't want to. I respect where you're coming from. Everything isn't all about courage and honesty like some fucking tv movie. I know that. But--"

"I know. That's what I'm talking about."

"Yes, I would like to hear you tell your mom you date me. She hates me. She hated my sister. She called her a slut. She calls us those damn French!" Jean-Paul was really warming up now.

"You really should stop listening to other people's phone calls!" Walter said in mock anger. "And you know, I call you those damn French, right to your face."

"_Ta guele_, _casse tête._"

"Oh, ho! The moral high ground is slipping," Walter teased. "But yeah, I would tell her."

"And Chad and Veronica?" Walter's ex-wife and son.

"Yep, them too."

"Now, I know I am a tiger in the sack, but come on? Why? Why are you here tonight telling me this bullshit?" he sneered. He wasn't angry, he was somewhat amused by his notion of the absurdity of the situation.

Walter reached over him and grabbed his drink.

"This requires a drink?" Jean-Paul asked, eyebrow arched.

"Dealing with you requires a drink." The big man looked at him through one eye over the rim of his glass.

Jean-Paul hated that Walter to could get to him so easily, make him laugh or cry or a million things in between.

"I'm almost 40, babe. After the other night, when we were playing hockey online, I just started thinking. Was this one idea about myself, that I was more straight than not so important? More important than being with someone I loved? Do I care that much what people think about me, what their suppositions about me are, that I would not live how I wanted to live?"

Walter grabbed his hand, his strong fingers twining between Jean-Paul's skinny ones.

"Do you remember a couple of years ago when we were out on the boat?"

"_Bien sur._"

"I had such a good time. I was happy. I haven't been all that happy in a long time, you know? Not really since I got divorced."

"I wasn't aware that you still missed Linda."

"I don't, not at all. But I miss the idea. I liked being married, playing house, that stuff. Knowing you were going to love and be loved by the same person forever if you could manage it."

He leaned forward and kissed Walter chastely on the lips, then went back to laying on his side.

"What about Candy?" Some girlfriend Walter had mentioned a few times in the past half-year in their few phone calls or online.

"It's nothing serious, if that is what you are asking."

"I guess not if you're trying to fuck me on the other side of the country."

"Has anyone told you, you have a way with words?" Walter crimped his lips, his temper flaring.

Jean-Paul put his fingers over his mouth to stop that face. "_Ouais._"

"My point being, is that I don't want to be unhappy because I was afraid. When I was younger I was afraid. Afraid that everything would dead-end if people knew..."

"Knew that you liked men?"

"Worse. Knew that I liked you."

This made Jean-Paul howl genuine peals of laughter. He couldn't stop and Walter had to put his drink on the carpet so it didn't slosh on the bed.

"You're so funny." Then he punched him in the arm, hard. "And a jerk."

"I'm kidding." Walter said, pulling his body over Jean-Paul's, their lips close.

"I know."

Jean-Paul arched as Walter threaded his fingers through his hair, brushing his ear.

"Walter. I don't know what to do with you."

"Let me in. Is it so scary?"

"Fuck yes! Ask stupid questions..."

Walter leaned down and this time Jean-Paul let him, their mouths meeting with a grace lent by familiarity.

When Walter pulled back, Jean-Paul looked up at him with slitted eyes. "So you're my boyfriend now, hmm?"

"Guess so."

"You think the kid will take it okay. Being 15 is hard enough, I don't want it to be harder for him." And Jean-Paul meant it, because he was a pragmatist and there were things that weren't worth standing on when it meant people would get hurt.

"Yeah, I think he will be okay. I think he may have some ideas of his own frankly."

Both of Jean-Paul's eyebrows lifted, eyes wide.

"Pretty much my thoughts." Walter chuckled.

He looked down at him thoughtfully. "Am I going to get a piece now?"

Jean-Paul smiled coyly, and wiggled under him. "I think so, Mr. Scientist."

Soon they were stripped and Jean-Paul was lying back, letting Walter worship him in that thorough way of his. Kissing him from head to toe, burying his nose in his pubic hair and driving him wild by licking him everywhere. And when Walter was finally fucking him, it felt like he was home in a way. Because he was. All these years, places and jobs and lovers and friends had changed. But not Walter. He'd always been there, through one crisis or another. He shut his eyes, held him with all the strength he had and felt Walter return it.

Afterwards they lay together, sticky with sweat. Walter had his arm looped around him, pulling him close and not letting him go. Normally Jean-Paul would squirm away, maybe even get up and leave. But not today. Today was different. Even if it failed tomorrow, today things were different. Jean-Paul was in bed with someone who loved him. How rare, how precious. He laid there watching Walter breathe for a long time and wondered what would happen next.


End file.
